


meet me at the airport gate

by nyckolodeo_n



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyckolodeo_n/pseuds/nyckolodeo_n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>They pull apart and when Thomas looks into Minho’s eyes he can tell he doesn’t want to lose it either, doesn’t want to lose this feeling they share and Thomas’s heart swells a bit at that; at the realization that Minho may feels the same about him as he does about Minho. The barista clears her throat at them and they pull apart, both blushing and fumbling over their apologies as she takes their orders and promises to "be right back." They sit at the table across from each other, knees brushing against each other’s under the table. It is a little awkward at first, neither of them wanting to explain how sorry they are for getting the wrong luggage and wondering how that didn’t realize sooner that it wasn’t theirs. Then Minho asks the looming question of, “So, what brings you to New York, dear Thomas?”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	meet me at the airport gate

**Author's Note:**

> [i fucked up yesterday]  
> this is written for my darling, [Mads](http://thominho.tumblr.com) because i couldn't write her HP au like i promised D:

Thomas is late. Thomas is so incredibly, stupidly late and he’s going to need his luggage to come down the conveyer belt like, right this second. He was supposed to be at the scouting convention an hour ago and he cannot believe this is taking so goddamn long. It should not take three minutes for luggage to be unloaded from the plane to the belt for him to take. This is absolutely ridiculous and he’s going to file a complaint.

Well, he would file a complaint if he actually had  _time,_ but he doesn’t because he’s got to be almost three-quarters of the way across town,  _an hour ago_ and he just does not have the time. Thomas taps his foot impatiently and runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up through University from Newt and never grew out of. He probably shouldn’t have spent that much time with the other boy if he’s picked up these stupid habit0s. However, he doesn’t have time to ponder on it because  _finally_ he sees his luggage. He pushes through the crowds, accidentally elbowing a few people, and apologizing on the way because his mother raised him right, and tugs the luggage off the rack, not even bothering to check the name on the tags; how many people could _possibly_ have the same suitcase has him. It was a limited time offer, so he’s guessing it isn’t very likely.

But he really has to  _go._

Thomas makes a beeline for the door and once outside, he tries to flag down a taxicab as quickly as he can. It’s almost five minutes before any of them pay him any attention, which makes sense in places like New York, and when one finally pulls up Thomas jumps into the back seat, luggage in tow, before anyone can take it from him. He closes the door, shoving his luggage to the neighboring seat as he rambles off the address and the taxi driver pulls away from the curb. He sighs in relief and relaxes just a bit, because he’s finally on his way to his artist convention and its taken way too long for this stupid trip to actually get him where he needs to be. He _hates_ flying from California to New York and he’s never doing it again. As he’s closing his eyes his phone goes off and Thomas groans as he presses the answer button without looking at the caller id. Ten bucks says that it’s Frypan, anyways.

“Hello?” Thomas mumbles into his phone as he yawns, running his hand through his hair again. His hair is going to look ridiculous by the time he gets there. At least he’s closer to arriving than he was twenty minutes ago.

 “Thomas, please tell me you’re almost here. Alby is about ten minutes from pulling all his hair out.” It is Frypan, because apparently he’s the only one that cares enough about the possibility of Thomas dying in a plane crash to actually call him, but Thomas isn’t going to hold that against anyone. It’s a very stressful day for them all.

“I’m about ten minutes out. Tell him I’m sorry and I’ll buy him dinner if this all goes well, okay? See you in a bit.” he hangs up with a  _“Alby says he wants Italian,”_ from Fry and he takes a deep breath.

Everything is going to work out just fine.

-x-

When Thomas finally makes it to his destination, he pays and tips the taxi driver before rushing through the front doors and practically running down the hall of the hotel to where he needs to be. When he bursts into the room everyone turns to look at him. People all around the room stare up at him in awe, like Thomas is the second coming of Christ. He’s used it, really; his name and face is pretty well known to anyone who wants to be a part of the artist community.

"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Mr. Thomas Green." it’s Fry’s voice, and everyone in the room stands up and claps for him as he makes his way to the front by the door that leads into the exhibition room, placing his luggage to the side. "Mr. Green, would you like to say a few words before we get started?"

Thomas clears his throat before he starts, “I’m not going to lie to any of you, today is either going to be a very good day for you or a very bad one. You will either advance to the next stage in this scout, located in Miami, or you will go home. My goal is not to make any of you feel bad; all of my criticisms will be given in a positive and encouraging way. I wish every single one of you the best of luck. Now,” he gestures to the door behind him and lets a smile spread across his face, “let’s get started shall we?”

-x-

The scouting goes well, extremely well. Out of the five-hundred people that showed up two-hundred and thirty-three people made it to the next round. Every artist that showed up was extremely talented and had good intentions, and Thomas made sure to let everyone that didn’t make it know just how much he really did love their work (even if it wasn’t quite what the new exhibit that Chicago would be looking for). Thomas is extremely excited to see what those people are going to prepare for the next exhibit that’s just over a week away. This isn’t Thomas’s favorite part of his job, but it is definitely high on the list. Making people’s dreams that much closer to coming true just by saying  _"Congratulations, you’ve got what we’re looking for."_ makes Thomas’s heart melt in his chest. He’s pulled away from his thoughts by Alby, the dark skinned man reminding him of his promise to take the elder to dinner.

"There’s this nice Italian restaurant a couple blocks up from here. Go put your bags upstairs and then we can head out." He’s smirking because he’s probably picked one of the most expensive restaurants in town and he knows that Thomas will pay for it no matter what, not that it’s hurting the younger boy’s wallet at all regardless.

"Yeah. Sure thing Albert." Thomas runs his hands through his hair again. "Give me two minutes." This time when he makes his way through the hallway it’s at a much slower, much calmer pace and nobody is looking at him like he’s grown a third arm. He makes it to the elevator with no trouble and down the hallway to his room the same. He throws his suitcase on the bed, heavier than he remembers it being when he packed last night, and trades his blue beanie for his red one, before rushing out the door.

He’ll worry about his luggage when he gets back.

-x-

Dinner with Alby is good. Alby gets the second most expensive thing on the menu, Thomas orders the most expensive wine on the menu and its all fun and laid back. Alby has always been a good person to go places with; always been a fun person in general. Thomas has had about four glasses of wine and is stumbling down the street, Alby holding onto him but not in much any better kind of state than Thomas himself, singing (and butchering) some pop song he heard on the intercom at the airport but doesn’t actually fully remember the words to. They stumble through the revolving doors and through the lobby of the hotel, giggling into each other’s necks as they wait for the elevator to get where they are. People give them strange looks but otherwise don’t say anything and Thomas is grateful for it. He honestly cannot deal with people who have problems with homosexuality. It’s one of his requirements when signing on new artists or teaching classes when he’s asked to; it’s a part of any contracts and syllabi he creates. 

When they finally get to their rooms, they bid each other good night and Thomas stumbles through his room without injury. He flops down on his bed next to his suitcase and pulls out his phone. He’s got a few missed calls from a number he doesn’t know, as well as a voicemail. He doesn’t really care enough to actually check them though, so he doesn’t, instead stripping down to his boxers and falling back onto the bed. He’ll deal with it, and the weirdness with his suitcase, in the morning.

-x-

When Thomas wakes up, his head slightly aches. He’s such a light weight but he can’t remember having more than maybe three glasses of wine so really none of it makes sense. He stretches out on the bed, popping his back, before he sits up and checks his phone. He scrunches his eyebrows together at the unknown number on the screen, vaguely remembering seeing it the night before. He’s got three missed calls, a voicemail, and a text. He ignores the text and listens to the voicemail, eyebrows drawing even closer together in confusion. 

_Hey, Thomas right? Look dude, no hard feelings or whatever, but I think we switched suitcases? Again, y’know, no hard feelings, I’d just much rather have my button ups and weights than obscure band tees and sketch pads. How long are you in New York, maybe we can meet up and change back? I’ve texted you where I’ll be for lunch and a time, so maybe you can join me. Again, no hard feeling, dude. Name’s Minho by the way, but if you’ve looked at the suitcase you probably know that by now. Right, uh. Bye!_

Thomas stares at his phone for a minute, not sure he heard the message correctly. He listens to it again, and then one more time (more because the guys voice sounds extremely hot than to listen to what he actually has to say) before saving the number to his phone with a suitcase emoji by the strangers name. Thomas checks his texts and in addition to the one from Minho, he’s got one from Alby planning out their entire day in The Big Apple. Thomas texts back a simple  _sorry bro, I‘ve got plan,_ before heading to the shower.

This has been a rather odd trip, to say the least.

-x-

Thomas gets to the bistro before Minho. At least that’s what he assumes considering he has no idea what Minho actually _looks_ like. Also no one around the bistro has a suitcase looking identical to his. He sits at the third table from the door and just waits. He’s ordered himself a Lemon-Ginger Tea to have while he’s waiting but that’s the best he can do. It’ll be much easier for Minho to find him than the other way around, considering there is absolutely no one else in this place wearing an obscured band tee with plaid other than Thomas and there are about ten people wearing button ups. Thomas taps his foot on the linoleum floor as his fucks around on his phone. He scrolls through Twitter, texts his sister and Chuck, checks Twitter again, and plays Candy Crush for as long as he can pay attention to it. He checks the time and groans because it’s only been  _ten fucking minutes_ and while Thomas made sure to get there early, he didn’t think it was that early. 

His phone buzzes on the table, and he smiles subconsciously at the text from Minho. He’s not sure how it happened, but the two strangers have been texting back and forth all day, about pretty much nothing in particular, but every time he gets a text from the other, what he assumes is, man, he’s gotten butterflies in his stomach. It’s a bit ridiculous, honestly, he doesn’t even  _know_ the other guy but he can’t help but feel a connection to him regardless.

_almost there bro. traffic is a bitch in this part of town._

**_no problem, dude… what are you wearing? so, you know, i know what to look for when you walk in._ **

_blue button up and ray-bans_

**_Cool. See you soon, man :)_ **

He spends about a second wondering if the smiley was too far before Minho replies with nothing more than a winking face; he lets his stress fall out of his shoulders.

Thomas resolutely stares at the door, glancing around the bistro only every few minutes to make it seem like he’s not a creep,  _because he’s not._ It’s another seven minutes — yes Thomas counted — before Minho walks in. As stated, he is indeed wearing a light blue button down, Ray-Bans perched on his nose and Thomas’s suitcase in hand. Thomas isn’t really sure what he was expecting Minho to look like, but  _"hottest person he has ever seen holy shit"_ was not something he pictured in his head. Minho’s got a beautiful skin complexion that’s completely clear of any blemishes and his eyes are a dark brown that Thomas could drown in. His hair is perfectly styled, not a single black hair out of place despite the windy weather outside and Thomas feels all his insides turn to goo, because wow. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but if it feels anything like this, he’ll take it over and over again; he hopes Minho feels even remotely the same.

He stands up, catching the Asian boy’s attention. “Thomas?” Minho’s voice sounds even more beautiful in person and Thomas isn’t really sure he can fall any further than he already has. Thomas just nods a general acknowledgement and then Minho’s making his way to the messy-haired boy’s table, smile spreading wide over his face, beaming like the sun. He barely sits Thomas’s luggage on the ground before he practically _throws_ himself at Thomas, arms wrapping tightly around said man’s neck. Thomas quickly wraps his arms around Minho’s waist, savoring this moment for as long as he can before he has to give it up, before they trade suitcases and fumble through awkward thanks and laugh at how silly this all has been. Thomas doesn’t want to lose it. 

They pull apart and when Thomas looks into Minho’s eyes he can tell he doesn’t want to lose it either, doesn’t want to lose this feeling they share and Thomas’s heart swells a bit at that; at the realization that Minho may feels the same about him as he does about Minho. The barista clears her throat at them and they pull apart, both blushing and fumbling over their apologies as she takes their orders and promises to  _"be right back."_ They sit at the table across from each other, knees brushing against each other’s under the table. It is a little awkward at first, neither of them wanting to explain how sorry they are for getting the wrong luggage and wondering how that didn’t realize sooner that it wasn’t theirs. Then Minho asks the looming question of, “So, what brings you to New York, dear Thomas?” 

And it just kind of digresses from there.

-x-

Lunch is great. Thomas learns that Minho is twenty-four, training hard for the Olympic try-outs even though they’re not for another year. (“You don’t understand Tom, I could finally make something of myself and my parents can stop staring at me with disappointment in their eyes for not becoming a lawyer like they wanted me to be.”

Thomas had just rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever you say, big guy.”)

Minho learns that Thomas is twenty-three and is in town for a artist exhibition that doubles as a competition to get your artwork into some of the best art museums in the country, and sometimes out of it. (What, are you a famous artist or something, Tommyboy?” Minho had asked with a smirk on his face.

“Yeah,” Thomas said with a smirk of his own, “Something like that.”)

When the two of them were finished and the ticket was paid for (by Thomas) the two grabbed their  _correct_ suitcases and followed each other out the door and onto the sidewalk out front of the bistro. When they turn to look at each other and say bye, Thomas’s gets caught in his throat; because he doesn’t want this to be goodbye, doesn’t want this to be the end of whatever it is he has with the beautiful boy in front of him. Minho saves him from his utter humiliation though, by speaking first. 

"How long are you in New York for?" He sounds hopeful, like maybe he’ll have a little more time with Thomas before he really does have to say goodbye. Thomas wishes that they could. But he sighs, because he knows that’s not true.

"I leave tomorrow morning; I’ve got to go to LA for a couple days then I’m heading to Miami for all of next week." Minho’s smile falls from his face, and Thomas grabs his hand, thinking of how he can bring that smile he’s gotten to love so much in the past few hours come back. Then he gets an idea, "Come see me in Miami. I’ll pay for your ticket and everything." He sounds a little desperate but he doesn’t care. This is very, very important to him.

"Really, dude? You have that much money?" Thomas rolls his eyes as Minho sniggers. "Yeah, okay Tom. You won’t forget about me between now and then will you? Accidentally put the ticket name under some girls name because you like her better?" The Asian man is most likely probably joking, but it hurts Thomas’s chest that Minho would even think that’s a possibility after the day they’ve spent together.

"Not a chance, man. I’ll make the reservation as soon as I get to LA and I’ll text you the details. I promise." Thomas is sure he sounds really pushy and a bit forward for someone he only just met, but he couldn’t give less of a shit, really. 

"Alright, Thomas Green," Minho lays a hand against Thomas’s cheek and leans forward so that his mouth it right on Thomas’s earlobe. "I’ll see you in Miami." he says, nibbling on Thomas’s earlobe a before turning around and walking away, but not before Thomas could see the slight blush on his cheek or the toothy smile on his face.

Thomas’s life is  _such_ a fucking cliché.

-x-

Six days later, Minho texts Thomas from JFK Airport in New York.

_Boarding the plane now. miss that shuck face of yours ;)_

**_Can’t wait to see you Min. Enjoy your flight. x_ **

_see you soon, Tom._

Thomas doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of that days exhibit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for the lack of Newt and Co. in this story.  
> find me [here](http://kihongleeofficial.tumblr.com)


End file.
